Nynu’s “What Does It Matter” #1

Here’s your unique version of the What Does It Matter story. Nynu’s braved this adventure alongside Arin, and created it with the choices they made. The end is nigh – Jan. 19th, 2025 which is just one of 11 possible endings.

This story was created with the Wondrous Tales 3 year anniversary interactive special .

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If you wish to partake in an interactive adventure What Does It Matter, you can join our Discord and #start right away.

Heirlooms

It was a morning like every other. The singing of birds awoke her from her slumber. Her glance wandered along the ceiling, illuminated by the light that the curtains failed to block out. A black spider, the size of her fist, sat in the corner of her room. It noticed her waking up and seemingly bowed to her as if a servant greeting their master. She took a deep breath and yawned wide, while stretching in her bed.

“Good morning to you too, Serela.”

The spider wiggled slightly and a phrase appeared on its web, “Good morning, master.”

As soon as her feet touched the floor, she heard a voice call out to her, “Wash up and get down, breakfast is ready.”

“Yes mom,” she mumbled sleepily, knowing her mother had heard her.

Cold water splashed on her face. She brushed the back of her hand against the mirror, as if brushing a lover’s cheek. The mirror instantly defogged, revealing her still sleepy, but freshened up face.

“What do I want to be today…” she mumbled, parting her lips and speaking out a chant. Without making a sound, her face morphed. She was now a he, a handsome lad who grinned ever playfully into the mirror.

“Or maybe…” she murmured, continuing to morph her appearance into a beautiful person whose gender was neutral. Then she was an old hag who grinned evilly into the mirror, next a gorgeous redhead who smiled innocently. She felt quite…, Feminine today.

Arin headed downstairs where her mother was already serving breakfast.

“Morning – Mom, Dad,” she spoke cheerfully, sitting down at the dining table. Her father peeked from behind the newspapers, scanning her up and down.

“Morning darling, you look as gorgeous as ever,” he replied.

“Thanks Dad!”

As her mother served them breakfast, her eyes darted momentarily to the empty fourth chair at the table, and then the four wooden mugs that lined the windowsill; she pondered yet again about these.

“Mom?” she called out softly.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever feel like something is off? As if something crucial was missing, not lining up?”

Her mother tilted her head to the side with a finger at her lips, pondering.

“Hmmm, occasionally,” she got up from the chair and walked back to the kitchen to turn the stove off, “but isn’t that just life? Always a little imperfect? Or… are you perhaps in love and missing somebody’s company?”

“Yes, that!”

Arin jumped up from her chair and then paused, “No, wait…”

“No! I’m not in love! But yes, that, that’s exactly it… I feel like, I’m missing somebody, I don’t know how to explain this,” she murmured, sitting back down.

“Oh darling,” her mother finished in the kitchen and made haste back for the table, sitting beside her daughter.

“Hun, any words of wisdom?” her mother probed her husband whose attention was glued to a newspaper.

He lowered the newspaper and glanced at his wife, then at his daughter.

“When something feels off or out of place, that usually comes from stress and anxiety,” he pondered for a moment.

“The mugs, nonsense. It is as your mother said, one is your grandmother’s, others are for us. The chair – a simple custom. No need to overthink something simple. Though,” he proceeded to fold the newspaper and put it on the table, reaching for his daughter’s hand and taking it into his. As he caressed her hand he smiled.

“The graduation exams are no joke, and so your concerns are valid, don’t let my words sway you or make you feel that your concerns aren’t valid. The sense of something missing is your confidence, you’re missing your confidence.”

He grinned and nodded at her, “Chin up, tiger! You’re the best and that exam is nothing but a small pebble in your path.”

She took a moment to take his words in, then grabbed the cup of water and chugged it, nodding confidently, “I think you’re right! And yes, I got this!”

Arin felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing ever so gently.

“Now then, about the exam. The basics are all you need to achieve greatness and become a powerful witch. Remember them well.”

“Harmony, brewery, and arcana,” she replied smugly.

“You’re as ready as you will ever be my dear. Now… as per tradition in our family,” her mother spoke softly and gestured with her hands.

On the table appeared a very plain, and crudely carved wooden box. It had a handful of runes burned into it, Arin recognized them to be protective runes. Her mother opened it and turned it toward Arin. It held various items within it, but the few that caught her eyes were; the earrings with beautiful amethysts, a silver bracelet with a large emerald as the centerpiece, and a ring with a small but pristine and perfect ruby embedded into it.

“Our family’s heirlooms, each witch in our family takes one to the exam with them, for, let’s call it – good luck,” her mother winked, glancing over at them.

“Is… this allowed?”

“Sure is, well, still best not to speak of it, but they won’t care about an extra trinket, I assure you.”

“Okay…” she hesitated, glancing over the items again.

“I’ve made my choice!”

“Excellent. Well then, which shall it be?” her mother queried.

“I’ll go with…”

“The Ring of Discovery!”

The door shut quietly behind her. As she peered over her shoulder, the face made of bark peered back at her and then its lips curled up into a gentle smile.

“Good day to you, and remember – be careful,” it groaned.

“You as well,” Arin chuckled and headed down the street. Her mind raced between possibilities as to where to visit prior to the academy.

Kira

The path to her friend’s house was a familiar one. There was but a single challenge along the way, an undefeatable, irresistible monster – the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery. Arin found herself pausing, almost tempted to grab a roll, but time was short.

The scent was too powerful; like an invisible hand, it pulled her closer, reeling her in. Arin glanced around, as if checking for witnesses to a crime she was about to commit, and then dashed into the bakery once she was certain nobody was around to witness her treachery. She snuck inside like a rogue on a mission, with much the same determination.

Moments later, she emerged victorious and beaming with delight, holding a freshly baked, warm and fluffy bun in her hands.

“Priorities,” she mumbled through a mouthful of bread, crumbs spilling onto her robes.

As she reached Kira’s door, her friend opened it, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” Kira said, smirking knowingly.

“The bakery monster got you again?”

Arin wiped a stray crumb that traveled down her chin like a lone adventurer.

“It’s a formidable foe. I barely escaped with my life… and this bun. Had to fight to near death!”

Kira rolled her eyes, scanning Arin up and down, “That aside, you look gorgeous today! But you won’t for long if you keep letting your stomach control your life.”

“I know,” Arin replied, taking the last bite, “don’t care, it was worth it! Shall we go?”

They approached the academy, it was much the same, except it wasn’t. As one might suspect, a magical academy for aspiring witches, alchemists, mages, and wizards wouldn’t be boring. Every day was something new. Today, for example, the entrance was a solid wall.

Kira crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as Arin poked at the wall.

“Yup. Definitely a wall,” Kira remarked a few short moments later.

“It’s not just a wall,” Arin replied, tracing the edge of one of the stones.

“No, you’re right, it’s a pop quiz I guess… ughh,” Kira said with sadness in her voice.

“The question is, how long will it take you to remember the spell you slept through in class?”

Arin shot her a spiteful glare, “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime, it’d be 10 seconds for us if you didn’t sleep through it… just saying.”

Arin sighed, contemplating her options.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” Kira said, already crouching next to the wall and inspecting it.

Arin followed Kira’s movements, tracing her fingers along the rough surface.

“What are we looking for exactly?”

Kira whispered hushly.

“Clues. Cracks. Or maybe a sign that says ‘push here, dummy.’.”

Arin responded without averting her focus from the wall.

“Very helpful, thanks,” Kira remarked sarcastically and straightened out, stretching. As Kira yawned, she noticed something.

“Oh!? Look at this,” she said, pointing to a larger gap in the rocks right at the center, like a seam where two halves met.

“Looks like a weak spot?”

Arin nodded, gliding her fingers down the seam, “I’ll try to fill it with mana, maybe that’ll weaken it enough to make the wall crumble?”

“Maybe…”

Kira commented, stepping back cautiously.

“But, I’ll stand back here, for… reasons.”

As Arin channeled mana into the wall, Kira leaned casually against a nearby tree that seemingly shuddered, and then sneezed, dropping a handful of leaves in the process.

“Bless you,” Kira said softly, returning her gaze to Arin who was focusing on the seam in the wall.

“Careful. You don’t want to overdo it and bring the whole academy building down.”

The wall rumbled into a pile of pebbles, and then the individual stones crumbled in a dusty heap that shot out in a puff of dust. Arin coughed, waving away the dust.

“Well done,” Kira called out, “Is it safe yet?”

“It worked!?”

Arin responded in a half-questioning, surprised tone.

As they entered the academy, Kira glanced at the now-normal entrance.

“Let me guess – sub-space shenanigans? Wizards these days…”

“Random pop quizzes, how fun,” Arin replied sarcastically.

A Student’s Duty

Upon entering the classroom, Arin threw a glance around, to her surprise there were only about a third of the students present. Their professor was already at his desk, reading a book. They assumed their seats, waiting for the lecture to start.

“Did others really fail that task?”

Kira glanced over and shrugged, “That or they used it as an excuse to skip. I’d wager on the latter.”

After a hearty chuckle, they in silence unpacked their supplies in preparation for the lecture. A book in Kira’s bag caught Arin’s attention.

“Oh? What’s that?”

Arin queried curiously.

“Mmh?”

Kira glanced at Arin and followed her gaze to the book, “Ah, this?” she pulled a curiously titled book out ‘A Disaster In The Waiting.’.

“Interesting title. Is it fiction or non-fiction?”

Kira pondered, “Historical fiction I’d say. Mostly made-up stories from tell-tales of the golden times. Whatever was passed around by word of mouth, loosely based on the historical records that survived.”

“How amusing,” Arin replied, curious to learn more and to read the book. The divine decree of witches only being allowed a single child never seemed fair. Having studied history at the academy she knew of the Golden Magical Era – a time in history when magical power was abundant.

“Mind if I borrow it? Seems – intriguing,” Arin asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity that she couldn’t mask.

Kira tilted her head, a smirk creeping onto her face.

“You? Into fiction? Now that’s a twist I didn’t see coming.”

“Well, you did make it sound intriguing,” she countered, fingers already inching toward the book.

“And I do enjoy learning about the Golden Magical Era.”

“Fair enough.”

Kira chuckled, sliding the book across the table with a lazy flick of the hand.

“Take your time. Just don’t ruin the ending for me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied with a sly grin, eager to flip it open.

The book is old, worn, and well-used. It has clearly been read many times and passed from hands to hands more than a dozen times. Though its leather cover was faded, it was still well intact. It was a thick, but soft leather cover with an embossed design and debossed lettering for the book’s title. Curiously it did not have an author’s name stated on the cover.

“Hmm, curious…” she traced the barely visible initials with her fingertip, something didn’t feel right to her. Something that she couldn’t remember.

“What is it?”

Kira asked, only paying half attention to Arin.

“No, it’s just… how did you come by this book?”

“Ohhh uh, I was out one day with a… hm, actually, I was alone now that I think about it. Anywho, I ventured into this old shady bookstore that I’d never been to before. Looked around, nothing of interest, then I noticed the owner was reading this book, and it was like a calling, I just had to have it, you know?? But, that’s that – a rather boring story,” Kira chuckled.

“The book you mean?”

Arin queried curiously.

“No, how I came to own it. The book is exceptionally fun to read, really epic you could even say.”

“Ah, I see…”

Arin replied with a wary smile.

Arin grasped the book and slipped it into her bag, patting the bag as she closed it, as if patting a well-behaved dog.

Kira smirked, “Really didn’t expect you to be interested in historical fiction, color me surprised.”

“Ah, I’m full of those,” Arin gave her a playful wink.

“Glad to see you’re interested in taking at least occasional breaks. I had feared that I’d have to plan an intervention to save you from overachieving with your academic success, ugh, sounds utmost bo-ring!”

Arin chuckled softly, “Oh, Kira! My hero! You’d shift to have lush blonde hair and long eyelashes? Come to my rescue at the library, riding your noble steed surely? I’d be swooned.”

Kira glanced at her for a moment and then turned away. Arin glanced over; Kira’s body shivered for a moment as it morphed into something different. Kira’s hair turned white and her voice became deeper. When he turned back around, Arin gasped. Before her now sat a handsome, perfectly chisel-faced man.

“Like this!?”

“Ah, my hero,” Arin mocked, “Ugly…”

“Oh come on!”

Kira sighed, shifting her appearance back to the more familiar, female one.

“Ahem… Witch Arin?” she heard a voice calling out to her. Snapping back to reality, she glanced around for the source of the voice, and then realized that all eyes were on her. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she bowed her head understandingly.

“It would seem to me that you wish to volunteer for the upcoming exercise?”

“Yes, Professor Romal,” she replied quietly.

“Very good,” the professor commended before pointing at the lecture board with his cane, “The graduation exams are coming up, and it is our duty, as the faculty, to prepare you all. As such, the following lectures in all of your classes will focus on your final preparations and training exercises prior to the exam.”

Arin glanced at the board, noting the basic highlights of the three core principles of witchcraft: ‘harmony, brewery, and arcana’. Each heading marked the start of a distinct column, their spaces yet to be filled.

She sighed quietly and reached for her book to stash it away in her bag, but as her fingers brushed against the cover, an odd sensation surged through her – a tingle, like static electricity propagated from her fingertips all the way through the body.

The once simple cover seemingly folded in on itself, warped and twisted, and then reshaped itself to a point of changing not just its shape and looks. Even the material it was made of seemed a lot thicker, and sturdier. The letters mixed into a swirling mess, like dyes in the water. The chaotic spiral unwinded itself and took upon a new shape, forming intricate and ancient symbols upon the cover of the grimoire. The cover shone ever so slightly, a shifting array of iridescent hues like the inside of a shell, but some of the colors were unlike anything that Arin had ever seen before, they were a color that in her mind she perceived as ‘ancient magic’.

Arin heard a calling as if a voiceless voice whispering for her to open the book, it was almost irresistible. She cautiously flipped it open, so as not to attract attention to herself. A slightly yellowed, from old age, page presented itself to her. Being blank and bare, like a field of pure, undisturbed snow; awaiting something to paint its canvas. A moment later, as if a freshly spilled vial of ink, a puddle formed at the center of its page. It spun lazily, like a slowly waking beast that was still groggy.

The ink spread itself out and shaped into a handful of simple words.

“Greetings, how may I be of service?”

Arin furrowed her eyebrows at the text that just formulated itself on the previously empty page. Then heard her professor clearing his throat, in an obvious attempt to gain her attention again. ‘No time,’ she thought to herself, closing the book and stashing it away in her bag.

As she returned her attention to the board after stashing the book away, she realized that the columns had already been filled out with various words. Each describing the core principles of witchcraft.

“And now, Witch Arin, are you ready to begin?”

“Already? Uhm, yes, professor.”

The professor smiled, and gestured to his chair, “Then please, take a seat.”

She walked down the stairs with the grace of a newborn giraffe, trying desperately not to stumble or fall over so as not to attract any more attention to herself. She slid behind the professor’s desk and sat down in his chair.

It creaked in protest, but there was little it could do to resist. As she sank into the cushion of the chair she felt unease wash over her. It was as if the chair was going to swallow her whole, like a vicious mimic.

“What shall I do?”

“Only relax,” he whispered slyly, “Now then, class. I will put Witch Arin to slumber, a basic spell many of you are already familiar with, however, there’s a catch to it. I will use a more advanced version of it, that allows me to send her, and the rest of you shortly, to a specific dream world that the faculty crafted in preparation for the exam. Rest assured, death in the dream does not imply death in reality, you’ll simply awaken should anything go wrong.”

There was a slight commotion after his words, followed by murmurs as students began to whisper to one another.

“Excuse me, professor, did you say – death?” she queried him anxiously.

“That’s right my dear. The graduation exam is a hands-on exercise, it is quite dangerous, so to prepare you all, the faculty has developed a safe means of hands-on training, lucid dreaming,” he replied smugly.

“Not to brag but it was, in fact, my idea.”

The class reluctantly applauded. The professor tossed his cane up, and it froze mid-air, as he bowed like a showman at a circus, “Thank you, thank you! Now, Witch Arin will be the first one to experience it. Oh, but not to worry young miss, the dream world is rather safe, at least in the initial zone. Faculty had tested it all thoroughly. Important to note though – the time ratio between reality and dream is roughly one hundred to one. So for every one hundred minutes there, merely a minute passes here. This means that you’ll spend well over five hours in there before you awaken back here in this chair, in absolute safety. Are you ready?”

She pulled a small vial from the inner pocket of her robe, popped it open, and poured the contents into her mouth before setting it cautiously on the table and nodding, “I am ready.”

“How wise. I applaud you,” the professor replied.

Dreams Beyond

The professor took a few limping steps toward her, for a moment Arin thought he resembled a waddling penguin and had to resist a laugh. He was leaning heavily on his cane with every step.

As he got close, he placed his hand on Arin’s head and murmured a cantation of swords, which Arin hadn’t ever heard before. Just as he finished, she felt a surge of his magic, like a tsunami, wash through her body, and with it, her consciousness faded.

She was not sure what to expect of the dream world, but one thing she was certain of – it was darker than she had anticipated. The stale dusty air made her uncertain if she ended up in a dungeon or a cave.

Light magic may have been unheard of in the past. These days, though, basic light spells are accessible to just about every wizard, mage, and witch unless they’re absolutely not compatible with the light element.

“Luminos,” she whispered. Her robes began to glow, faintly at first, slowly becoming more intense, until eventually, it shone like a lantern, in all directions, illuminating the hallway inside which she found herself.

The hallway was rather unremarkable. There were exactly two doors, one at each end. The door to her right seemed fancier. It had ornaments upon it that seemed rather old school. Now that she had a closer look, the entire hallway had an antiqued look to it, it seemed rather ancient if anything.

Old rugs – once fashionable, perhaps 200 to 300 years ago, lined the floors. Upon the walls with peeling wallpaper, in silence hung paintings, covered in a thick crust of dust, like ancient armor guarding them.

The door to the left seemed rather bland. It was a very basic wooden door with nothing of interest to it.

It seemed odd that there would be just two doors in a place like this.

Arin squinted at the nearest painting, leaning closer to it. As she brushed it with her sleeve, a plume of dust erupted off it, as if offended by her presence. It enveloped her like an angry air elemental that had decided to act like a desert storm.

When the storm settled at last, she frowned. The painting before her was of a very plain, non-interesting frog that sat upon the edge of a leaf – as if contemplating taking a leap of faith to its likely demise.

She pondered for a moment, wondering what kinds of hardships might push a frog to the edge like that. Then decided there wasn’t much else to see in the painting, and glanced down at the placard below it.

Words etched into copper read ‘dreams of beyond.’ She chucked, “Dreams of what? The end?”

Her gaze traveled onwards, like that of a traveler on the top of a mountain, gazing at a horizon, though her horizon was much closer – it was the next painting over.

This one was a little less dusty, and she dared not anger the dust spirits again, so she tried to perceive it through the blanket of dust that decorated it like snow.

It was a painting of a man whose mustache seemed more alive than he did. In fact, the mustache appeared so alive that it twisted and straightened itself out, like a sleepy sloth stretching itself out to the frame. After a moment, like an over-stretched spring, it recoiled back into its previous curled-up shape.

She glanced at a bare wall that looked suspicious. In fact, it was acting so suspicious that she practically felt it averting its gaze so as not to appear suspicious. Everybody who knows even a little about walls should know that the moment a wall averts its gaze, is when you can assume the wall is suspicious.

She approached it with the same seriousness of a certain renowned pink-haired detective who was closing in on a breakthrough in his conquest of the Gale’s Ale, an anecdote she had once heard.

It is a known fact that walls are sneaky, and this one tried extra hard to be even sneakier, standing very still.

With a sly grin, she knocked on the wall three times, at first there was nothing, but a delayed response soon followed, “Fine you caught me, but don’t they teach witches any manners these days? Knocking on other beings for no reason is R-U-D-E!”

“Is it? Doors are made to be knocked on, no?”

The wall seemingly pondered over her question, “Fair point… Ahem, password?”

“Password…?”

“How about ‘Open, please?’.”

“Open, please?” she hesitated.

“Try again… Maybe go look for the password?”

“Is it here? Where?” she queried, but the wall remained silent.

“Ah! I remember now; it is – ‘Dreams of beyond’ isn’t it?”

“Great!” the door replied with sarcastic excitement.

“Really? That easy?”

Arin rejoiced.

“No!” the door responded firmly and remained shut.

“Dawhh. Do I get another try!?”

“No!” the door mocked her, “That’s three strikes, you’re out.”

She sighed, glaring furiously at the wall, “I’ll burn you…”

“I am made of brick, you can’t burn me,” the wall continued to mock.

She leaned into the wall, her fingers gliding over the peeling, old, wallpaper, thinking what else to do.

The wall shuddered as if resisting a cackle.

“Hmm?” she pondered, but the wall remained silent, wiggling her fingers against the peeling wallpaper again, the wall shuddered once more, and then let out a muffled snort.

“Oh?” she smirked cheerfully.

“Sh…Shut up! Cease this tomfoolery immediately,” the wall demanded.

“And what if I don’t?” she mocked it back, continuing to wiggle her fingers.

The wall burst into a stone-cold chuckle, shuddering and groaning amidst its laughter.

“Fine hahaha, fine! Stop… hah! I beg of you, this is simply unfair!”

With the sound of grinding stone a hidden seam appeared.

She smirked, pressing the palm of her hand against the wall and pushing it open, “See? That wasn’t that hard.”

The wall huffed, catching its breath, “Hah… next time just bring the password, no need to get touchy…”

She stepped through, hearing the thud as the door closed behind her, murmuring something about ‘ticklish intruders.’.

The room beyond the door was dark, the only source of light being the soft and gentle light emitted by the robes. It was a vast room, a bedroom, and a laboratory by the looks of it. Arin peeked into the room before stepping over the threshold. The room was quiet, nothing and no one seemed to be within it.

She exhaled a sigh of relief and As soon as she did, she heard a voice, like a distant echo in her mind, a forgotten memory perhaps. The voice seemed to be reading a story – barely audible, muffled by long distance and seemingly time, it was hard to tell if this was an illusion, a memory, or perhaps a telepathic communication.

Arin closed her eyes after taking a few steps into the room. Her mind chased after the voice like a fox chasing a rabbit. It was elusive, every time she thought she focused on it, the voice slipped away. Managing to catch only fragmented parts of what it was saying each time.

‘Long ago, a brave rabbit by the name of Oliver…’

She chased the voice again, a distant source, an unseen echo in the deepest corners of her mind. It would wait just long enough to be caught and focused upon before dissipating once more into an incomprehensible jumbled noise.

‘…kicked him in the face with enough force to…’

Arin’s memory stirred. She recognized these story fragments, they were from a storybook of Wondrous Tales that she enjoyed so much as a kid.

The voice was gone now, as if never there. She reopened her eyes, carefully looking around. There was no one.

As she walked into the room, more oddities came to light. Not far from the door, at the apparent center of the room was a magical circle carved out on the wooden floor. Its edge was lined in runes that Arin couldn’t quite figure out. She thought she had seen similar runes in the past, perhaps in the history books during lectures. They were runes from old magic, the magic from the times of god-like sorcerers and the abundance of magic in the world.

She trod carefully around it so as not to step into the circle by accident. Magical circles can have the most unexpected activation requirements. It would be foolish to probe it by stepping into it, especially when one can not decipher the runic spell that is placed upon the circle.

There was an abundance of curious items in the room that were worth examining.

The desk stood in the corner, near the ingredients shelf. As she approached it, she once more noted that the old floorboards hardly made a sound. Throwing a quick glance around the desk, she noticed a few things of interest.

Among the expected clutter on a work desk – lay a diary. Perhaps it was written in just recently, as it had no dust upon its aged and cracked cover, its corners old and frayed. The clasp on the diary was undone, as if beckoning Arin to peek inside.

A quill was resting beside the diary, on its stand; waiting to be picked up and wielded like the weapon it was meant to be – a pen is stronger than the sword, they say.

She paused for a moment, her fingers lingering on the edge of the dusty desk. A faint murmur tickled her mind once more. The same soft and familiar voice she had heard before, as if carried by distant ripples over immeasurable distance, balancing on the edge between the heard and unheard.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she pursued the voice, focusing on it.

‘… You’re mister Dark-feather? A pigeon… – is that correct?..’

The words blurred as her focus wavered while she tried to remember what tale this was a part of while the voice was slipping away.

Arin clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Her body relaxed and the tension left her. This sets her mind into a calm state, allowing her to focus on the voice again.

It came to be once more at the edge of her mind. A faint echo she could barely make out the words of.

“Ace glanced at him from the top of the captain’s chair and nodded.

“Name?”

“I’m Roger, sir.”

Ace grinned.

“Roger that..”

“No sir, just Roger.”

Ace nodded.

“Very well, assume command of the ermm…”

“The Golden Eyelashes, sir,” Roger reminded…”

There was a faint laugh, Arin couldn’t tell if it was hers or the voice’s, but the scene she heard made her lips curl up regardless. The scene was vivid, she remembered it in full detail. Ace – the charismatic otter mailman who made it through everything with charisma and a ‘can do’ attitude.

Memories began to flood her mind. They push the voice further into nothingness, memories of someone reading this story to her as she lay in bed. She felt her mouth open as if trying to call out a name but no sound escaped her lips.

The dreamlike whispers faded away, leaving Arin standing alone and in silence. She clung to her head, “What is this… Who read it to me? Was it my mother?”

After a long moment of silence and memories she couldn’t recall, she decided to shake it off and resume her investigation of this place. Snapping out of her stupor at last, she glanced over the desk again.

Arin noticed that one of the drawers was pried open just a smidge, enough to pique her curiosity. Before reaching for anything, she took a moment to examine the rest of the table, noticing that atop a stack of tomes and scrolls laid an item covered by dark velvet of the finest quality.

She reached for the velvet fabric, pulling it up to reveal beneath it an amulet that rested atop a folded, aged parchment.

The parchment’s corners were yellowed and brittle. She carefully pulled the parchment from beneath the amulet, unfolding it slowly and cautiously.

It revealed a hand-written note.

‘To Maglamor Helin.

This is our gift to you, magister..

This amulet is your key to successful ascension, yet we advise you wield it with caution, for it binds to the soul of its bearer. Should the amulet perish, so will you.

It will create the link to the realm of magic by absorbing the magic of the sister witches, allowing you to draw upon its endless reserves.

Become our new god.

— R.H’

With a hint of hesitation and a trembling hand, Arin reached for the diary, almost too afraid to know what she might find inside, yet curiosity got the best of her.

She flipped it over to a random page, her eyes scanned the unevenly scrawled text. Her jaw hung open as she read the entry.

‘One of the witch sisters has been captured. As expected – witch sisters are mighty even when split up. This one found my dwelling through, as she said – ‘being attracted to a source of abnormality’, tsk, I thought I hid it well. No matter, she was captured by my strongest sealing spell, the ‘reflectionless reality’, yet even now she fights and resists with all her might despite being dormant and forced to live out her dreams.

Albeit this threw my plans off the rails, step one is done, now I need to capture her sister. I’ve received the amulet, and the sacrifices are ready, as are the rest of the ingredients. Soon, very soon, I will be the new source of magic in this world.’

She gasped, panic flooded her mind. Stumbling backward, her foot got caught on the leg of the chair, throwing her off balance. The wooden floor proved to be as hard as it looked when she fell. Her robes softened the impact a little, but not enough to prevent the bruises she would soon have.

She pushed herself away, further from the desk. Her heart pounded in her chest, and each thump only further devastated her thoughts. Each thump of her heart threw her focus into a chaotic disarray.

She felt dizzy and lightheaded, dread and fear mixed into a single entity that probed at her very core instinct of fight or flight. The mana within her went haywire, occasionally sparking out of her fingers in a disorderly manner.

Her gaze momentarily fell upon a dark mirror in the corner of the room. For a moment, her mind stirred and tore at itself as if ravaged by an ancient beast that had been unleashed.

Her head throbbed; the possibility of discovering something she was not prepared for, and finding secrets that were meant to be sealed for all of eternity in this room.

After a moment to catch her breath, she pondered on what to do next.

Arin carefully slid open the drawer, her fingers brushing against the antique wood before coming to rest on a small, familiar book. At first glance, it looked entirely unremarkable – a worn book from some used books store, its edges slightly frayed, and its cover – unremarkable. Yet, as she focused on it for a moment, the title suddenly became apparently familiar to her – ‘A Disaster In The Waiting’, the book Kira had in class.

Arin flipped through the pages, stopping on the last chapter. Something about it felt wrong. A faint shimmer seemed to rise from the page as her fingers grazed the paper, and for a split second, the letters blurred into an unreadable mess before snapping back into place.

The room seemed to grow colder. Arin felt a pull from deep within the book, as if something ancient was calling to her from the pages. Her hand trembled as she closed it, but not before she noticed the small, inconspicuous symbol etched into the last page – one she didn’t recall seeing in class. It glimmered briefly before fading away.

This book was more than a simple novel. Something had changed, and she had to know why, but now was not the time for that.

The bookshelf stood against the far wall, its wooden frame darkened with age and dust that layered it like a warm blanket. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the spines of books stacked neatly. Each shelf was filled edge to edge, with some tomes seemingly laying atop the others due to lack of space on the shelves. The first thing that caught her eye was the title of a thick, leather-bound grimoire on the middle shelf, its cover adorned with gold symbols that shimmered strangely in the soft and gentle light emitted by the robes, ‘Blood Magic and Its Consequences’, it read.

The title sent a chill through her body.

Her gaze moved to another volume, one with charred edges, as if it had narrowly escaped being consumed by flames. For just a moment she hesitated, feeling bad for the book. Books are precious, and priceless, so for a tome to experience flames is truly tragic. She pulled it out from the orderly row of tomes that resembled parading soldiers with how neatly and tightly they had been standing, and flipped it open out of curiosity. The tome seemingly had several missing pages, they had been torn out in a rush. The raggedy remains of the torn pages made her heart clench.

“Poor thing,” she whispered, putting the tome back in its place before continuing along the shelf. Most of these tomes appeared to be magical in nature, or contain knowledge of magics that she dared not so much as touch. There was a certain heaviness in the air around the shelf – almost as if the books themselves carried dark, forbidden powers.

Arin carefully moved from shelf to shelf until she noticed a peculiar, ornate mirror nestled between two larger volumes. It didn’t quite seem to belong among the books.

Its frame was decorated with twisted symbols she couldn’t comprehend, but they resembled ancient runes.

A chill ran down Arin’s back, a gut feeling urging her to leave it be. For a moment – memories of her class’s excursion to the Grand Library’s archives bubbled up.

She remembered vividly how the archivist of the library informed them that the grimoires and tomes in the archives were so powerful that they had to be arranged in a way to cancel each other’s magic, and a single misplaced tome could see its words come to life.

She swallowed hard, curiosity pushing her further, this was just a dream world afterall, she was safe. The mirror’s mysterious aura kept drawing her attention, as if calling for her, yet Arin dared not pick it up. She angled herself so she could look into the mirror without touching it; her reflection looked back at her, but not as she did, it was different, it blinked when she did not.

Arin shuddered and recoiled, bumping into another bookshelf that was behind her. Her reflection laughed teasingly, and then disappeared.

As soon as she bumped into the other bookshelf, the voice rang in her mind once more. It was faint, a distant whisper.

“…two fishermen, Jake and Steve, were casting their nets on the eve of a fierce storm…”

Arin paused for a moment, regaining her focus and composure.

She chased after it, each word slipping through her consciousness like sand through fingers. Images of a darkening sea, storm clouds rolling in, and the flash of lightning flashed in her mind as the voice picked up fragments of a story:.

“… a flying pig dashed through the air…”

The words faded momentarily, and she strained, desperate to catch the next part. Just as the voice returned, it was softer, fragmented, the details hazy as if told from a dream.

“…a woman in the waves, barely holding onto a scrap of wood…”

A name starting with.

“K” floated up briefly in her mind, and for some reason, it filled her with a strange nostalgia. She could almost hear the sounds of the waves clashing with the ship, taste the spray of the salty waters, smell the sea air. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the voice faded, slipping away into the silence of the room. Arin opened her eyes, a lingering ache in her chest for the story she felt she should know but couldn’t fully remember.

For a moment, Arin wondered if she’d been remembering her own memories or someone else’s – a strange, unsettling thought. She glanced cautiously around the dark room, and then at the bookshelf against which her back was pressed.

The bookshelf that Arin bumped into shook as if displeased by the fact that it got bumped into. A single book fell from the top of it, landing on the stone floor with an audible thump.

Arin glanced down at the book, it looked familiar somehow. Kneeling to take a closer look, she recognized it now. It is the book from the class, from Kira, though, unlike the grimoire she read in the classroom, this one was already in its final and true form. Its cover shone much the same as in the real world, shifting array of iridescent hues, featuring colors that Arin had never seen before; colors she could only describe as ‘ancient magic’.

She picked it up, and to her surprise the grimoire looked simultaneously covered in dust, and clean.

Before she could so much as reach it with her other hand, the grimoire flipped itself open to an arbitrary page, it was blank at first, and then images and words began to appear. It described a very complicated, and seemingly impossible ritual, a ritual of Ascension to Sorcery.

Arin recalled that sorcerers were essentially demigods. They had an ethereal connection to the fundamentals of magic, and acted as beacons for the magic to enter our world through, as such, they were the sources of magic itself, hence the name – sorcerers.

Her body stiffened as she read on.

The ritual described in essence a power transfer from two witches bound by blood, sisters, to a wizard who had mastered the control of arcana. Sisters among witches were banned by the celestial decree, yet there have been cases when a witch would birth two children. Though those cases are exceptionally rare, even more so than the mythical flower Snow Rose.

“Creepy…” she thought to herself, unconsciously keeping a hold of the book as she glanced around the room for the next thing to examine.

The bed was grand yet ancient-looking, its tall posts carved from dark wood and draped with heavy, moth-eaten curtains that hung like shadows. The linens, while finely woven, had lost their color to time. Arin leaned in, catching the faintest whiff of something like old parchment and herbs, the kind of scent that lingered in a room where forbidden knowledge was studied late into the nights.

Her eyes shifted to the bedside table, its small drawer slightly ajar, almost beckoning her to peek inside. She reached for it.

Inside, Arin found a small, weathered, unsealed envelope. Opening it carefully, she slid out a letter that, despite its age, looked as though it had been written recently. The handwriting was sharp and precise, the ink as dark as spilled blood. The letter was addressed to some unknown council, its language intentionally obscure and vague but its intent was unmistakable and sinister.

‘To the esteemed members of the Obsidian Circle,’ it began, each word sounding ominous, the sharp writing style only added intensity and urgency to each of them. ‘After centuries of diligent waiting, I am on the brink of achieving what was once thought to be beyond mortal reach. I have discovered two witches bound by blood, in this very academy’s halls.

Witch sisters; the impossible. By their hand and by the power within them, I will ascend.’ It was signed – Maglamor Helin

She pulled her hand back, ‘Maglamor Helin, must be the owner of this palace.’.

The letter slipped from her fingers and landed softly on the sheets. A chill crept up her spine as she tried to dismiss the thoughts of some ancient dark wizard conspiracy theory.

“Nonsense!” she protested her worries, just to confirm them – ‘he was just a practitioner of the forbidden magic, out to capture a marvelous phenomenon witch sisters to drain them of their power to fuel his own greed for power.’.

Glancing back to the bedside, Arin’s eyes got caught on a small portrait frame near the magical lantern that was extinguished. Normally it would have an eternal-flame spell placed inside it.

Wiping away the thin layer of dust on the portrait, she revealed a familiar face. It stared back at her with cold, unreadable eyes. The man in the picture was leaning heavily on a cane, a small smile curving his lips in a way that sent another shiver through Arin. It was unmistakably – Professor Romal.

“NO,” she protested her thoughts, “It cannot be, he cannot be Maglamor Helin, surely…”

It seemed as though he had left a piece of himself here, a silent, lingering presence in this very portrait as if watching her every move. She took a wary step back, steadying breath, swallowing the unease that had started to swell within her.

She tried to decide on the next thing to examine.

Upon taking a wary step toward the mysterious object, the full-height mirror that stood beside the wardrobe, she heard the faint voice once more.

“We are Urtid…” the distant voice, like an echo of past, long forgotten, whispered to her. The familiarity of the voice sent chills through her body, she knew that voice yet couldn’t remember it. Gritting her teeth she shut her eyes, deciding, thinking.

“Calm her mind and focus, search for the voice, reach for it.”

‘No, please don’t leave! Tell me more of your tales…’ she pleaded, searching desperately for the voice amidst the silence and darkness.

On the outskirts, just beyond her reach, the voice lingers as a shapeless form, a whisp, a faint memory. The voice, barely audible, yet soft and beautiful, continues retelling the tale.

“When a witch of blood, darkness, or nature finds a snow rose…” the voice faded yet again but the phrase sparked a sense of Deja Vu within her.

Arin now found herself lying in bed, a faceless person sat beside her, speaking softly, telling her a story of a legendary witch that had once acquired a mythical flower and with its aid overcame her weaknesses and saved the life of a princess. A story of perseverance and the power of will, a story that is often told to young witches as a means of teaching them what it truly means to be a witch.

She sighed softly, refocusing herself, dismissing the sense of Deja Vu, searching again for the voice, yet not even an echo of it remained.

As she reopened her eyes, the mirror loomed before her. Arin felt a pull toward it as if an invisible thread tugged at her thoughts and body alike to approach it, to reach for it, to look into it. She walked warily toward it, her steps light and slow, hesitant yet unable to resist its pull; she approached it till she was but an arm’s length away.

Her instincts yelped not to stare into the mirror; its ominous presence made it seem like a bad idea.

After a quick glance at the mirror she shuddered, it was like staring into the abyss, and everybody knows what happens if you do.

There was a faint ripple that propagated through the mirror’s dark surface. As soon as it subsided, Arin saw her own silhouette staring back at her, yet after a moment she noticed that the details were all wrong. The silhouette wasn’t hers. The figure in the mirror appeared a little taller, and perhaps older. Her features – eerily familiar. The silhouette’s eyes were closed, body laying still as if trapped in some enchanted slumber, yet her lips moved as if murmuring something.

Arin leaned closer to the mirror in hopes of hearing what she’s saying. Suddenly the voice became audible, a sense of urgency filled the room as she heard a shout in her mind. The silhouette in the mirror remained still. Its eyes still closed yet its mouth moved as if shouting, and along with it – the voice rang in Arin’s ears. “What are you doing here!? Run! RUN My foolish sister! You must leave! You mustn’t let him catch you… Cerleno! Call out Cerleno!”

Arin recoiled, tearing her hand from the mirror; the silhouette instantly dissipated. She staggered backward, her body trembling as her mind plunged into chaotic disarray.

Fragmented memories flooded in, snippets of her forgotten past, scenes. She had remembered them differently, a person in those scenes who was gone before. Sister. The word echoed in her mind, like a rolling thunder that kept growing louder.

Two daughters born to the same witch, sisters; an impossibility…

She remembered now the whispered warnings of her mother, words she spoke to them before kissing them both goodnight, “You are my gift, my treasure. And just like treasure, there might be those that seek you and hunt for you.”

Dark wizard, Maglamor Helin. His name sounded sinister, heavy, and frightening. For a while, she forgot to breathe as she battled the onslaught of fright and confusion. Then managed a gasp at last, blinking the confusion away.

The missing puzzle pieces were now aligning. The oddities she kept noticing as of recently were no longer odd. The fourth chair at the dining table, the stranger in the family picture, the fourth wooden mug. The memories felt off and odd. It all made sense now, she was the missing piece.

Arin glanced back at the mirror, its smooth and reflectionless surface did not waver, but she heard the voice break through one last time, “Basement – 57…”

Arin hesitated, her trembling hand reaching for her robes. She grasped them, squeezing hard in a desperate attempt to calm herself down, “Ce…cer…ah…” she stuttered, letters stumbling over each other as she tried desperately to swallow the lump in her throat.

The weight of the newfound truth made her knees buckle as she struggled not to fall to the floor and break down into tears. Fear tugging at her mind and thoughts, sending them into complete disarray, rendering any attempts to focus futile. The last words she heard echoed in her mind, she murmured them unbeknownst to herself, “Basement 57.”

With fear lingering at the edge of her consciousness, striving to break in and consume her whole. She wanted to give in to the basic survival instinct and flee, yet a passage from the book she had just read in class surfaced in her mind, pushing the fear away,.

‘Even compared to the mightiest sorcerers – the sisters stood triumphant, for their sheer magical power could only be rivaled by the gods.’ That passage swept through her mind like a roar of thunder, flushing away the fear of the dark wizard.

If it truly was her sister there, that meant one thing and one thing only. That the goddess herself permitted this anomaly, and they were a living myth; proof that miracles happen. The power of witch sisters would easily rival that of a sorcerer, and now the ritual made sense. Maglamor Helin needed to absorb their powers, which would enable him to tap into the unlimited magic and mana.

Arin now stood tall and strong, albeit her body still trembled and knees still shook. Her focused gaze examined the mirror. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d break the spell just yet, but she knew that she needed to rescue her sister.

The Awakening

When she reopened her eyes, she was sitting on a simple wooden chair, behind the professor’s desk.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the professor spoke softly as he threw a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Noticing that the five minutes had not quite passed yet, she awoke about a minute too soon.

Arin glared at the professor.

“Professor Romal. Yes, I am…” her gaze softened and lips curled into a gentle smile.

“Excellent,” he said curiously, taking a step closer, leaning heavily on his cane.

“How did it go?”

“It… went well, sir,” she lied; her voice steady and focused.

“Delightful,” he responded. His lips curled up into a faint smile.

“You seem focused, more so than before it, so much so in fact, that you broke the sleep spell.”

“Oh,” she gasped and then gulped, feeling the weight of his gaze upon her as if trying to perceive her thoughts. Trying not to flinch or look away, she continued firmly, “Uhm, is the exam world going to be the same for everyone?”

The professor nodded, “Yes, how was the forest? Met any interesting beings?”

“Forest?” she blinked in disbelief, her mind racing.

“There was no forest… I, uh, I seemingly ended up in what resembled some dark wizard’s chambers!” she continued, trying to maintain composure.

Professor Romal raised an eyebrow, his piercing gaze never leaving her.

“A dark wizard’s chambers? How… peculiar,” his voice woven with curiosity and his gaze sharp and demanding.

“That sounds… quite the departure from the expected world.”

She swallowed hard, trying to avoid his intense stare, “I’m serious. I ended up somewhere… unfamiliar. It wasn’t a forest at all… a hallway at first, that led into a room; there was a ritual circle and other mysterious artifacts…”

She paused, thinking about the detailed world she’d experienced, second-guessing her decision to talk about it. She considered that this was clearly not the intended world for her to see.

Romal’s expression remained unreadable, unpredictable even. His eyes gleamed with suspicion. He tapped his cane lightly on the ground.

“Hmm. It seems your version of events is… less than consistent with what I’d expect from someone who has undergone the trial.”

His voice grew colder, more neutral than she would have expected.

“Yes indeed, there was a peculiar mirror and a name that stuck with me…” but before she could finish her thoughts, he barked “ENOUGH!!!”

his eyes darted to the other students in the room.

The room fell into a tense silence. Arin’s heartbeat began to quicken as anxiety settled in. She thought she noticed a small bead of sweat forming on Professor Romal’s brow.

“Ahem…” he straightened out, adjusting his coat, and stepped aside. Leaning heavily on his cane he continued, “It would appear that you’re quite overwhelmed by the experience. I thank you for the honesty. We’ll make sure to conduct more tests before the examination, in regards to…” he paused, pondering for a moment.

“Other dream worlds. Witch Arin, perhaps, it might be wise for you to take the rest of the day off to destress.”

Her thoughts dissolved like a marshmallow in hot chocolate, not knowing what else to add or how best to respond. She gave him a cautious nod and got up.

“Good. Get some much-needed rest. I expect to see you back tomorrow in full focus and ready to overcome any challenges without letting them overwhelm you.”

His tone softened only slightly but it sounded almost intimidating, and daring.

She fought a shudder and took a moment to toughen up before getting from the professor’s chair and heading back to her seat to pack up her belongings.

As she walked out of the classroom, Kira met her gaze; a concerned frown on her face.

Arin responded with a gentle bob of her head and headed out.

As she stepped out of the academy, a chill crept down her spine, not the kind that sends shivers but the kind that feels like a warning whispered by the air itself. She paused, looking back instinctively, to her regret. She caught Professor Romal standing at the window of his classroom, his piercing gaze clearly glued to her.

She thought she could see his lips forming a faint smile. That smile wasn’t warm; quite the opposite in fact, it was cold and sinister. Her breath hitched, her instincts screamed to run, but she brushed it off with a nervous laugh, convincing herself it was just the nerves playing tricks on her. She bowed her head and hurried away, her pace quickening as the setting sun stretched her shadow long.

The setting sun painted the street in orange hues, casting her path in eerie light.

The air felt heavier with each step, as if the street itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Then she heard a clank. A metallic sound reverberated in the distance, sharp and unnatural, it sliced through the silence, like the sound of a drawing knife.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. The echo lingered, bouncing off the stone walls, as if aiming to frighter her. She swallowed hard, her legs urging her to move, but she remained still, breathing slow and steady while focusing on the next sound.

The silence was suffocating, and the suspense was heavy. A gentle clink broke the deafening silence at last as a porcelain teacup landed on a saucer with. Its echo slicing through the quiet like a sound of thunder on a clear and sunny day.

“Ma’am. Sir.”

The detective’s voice was calm and collected, a deliberate event.

“We’re putting every resource available to us to use in search of your daughter,” he said, flipping open his weathered notebook with the precision of a man who had done it hundreds of times.

His eyes darted around the pages, the sound of the paper shuffling as he flipped through pages, and the ticking of the clock remained the only sounds for a while. And when the suffocating silence felt almost unbearable, he spoke again, “But I need you to think, and think carefully. Is there anything, no matter how small, that you haven’t told me?”

“Nothing,” said Arin’s mother softly, leaning into her hands, her body trembled and her voice hitched. A muffled sob echoed through the room.

Her husband hugged her tightly, trying to comfort his distressed wife to the best of his abilities.

“Sir?” the detective glanced at her husband.

“We told you everything we know. Have you… checked that professor we mentioned? Romal was it?”

The detective flipped through his weathered notebook again, “Ah, yes. Professor Romal, a teacher of magic at the academy, he was the last one to see your daughter. He said she was quite worked up and seemed distressed that day. Do you believe there is a possibility that she ran away? To relatives perhaps?”

“We already checked in with all the family and friends where she could have gone, she is gone! GONE!” her mother cried out.

“Ma’am… I understand how you feel, I have a daughter myself,” the detective took one last sip of the tea. As he rose, tipping his hat with a muted nod, his gaze lingered on the four wooden mugs lining the windowsill. His polite expression faltered, replaced by something sharper. He took a slow, deliberate step closer to Arin’s parents, his fingers brushing the rim of his notebook as if ready to flip it open and jot something down.

“Forgive me, but… you said you had only one child, correct?”

His voice was calm, but the question hung in the air for a while before it was answered.

“Yes,” the father replied, though his voice trembled, the word barely reaching across the table.

His lips pressed into a thin line, the shadow of a smile fighting to form on his lips,.

“Curious,” he murmured under his breath, tapping his cane lightly against the floor before turning to leave, leaning heavily on it with each step he took.

“We’ll be in touch.”

– The End –